


unfaithful

by rokutouxei



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cheating, Cunnilingus, F/M, Woman on Top, spoilers for 707's real name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 17:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokutouxei/pseuds/rokutouxei
Summary: You know you're not the perfect match for Jumin Han. But you love him, and you like to think he loves you too.So you stomach it all. The rumors. The whispering. The stares. He's only doing what he has to do. This is his life's work, you tell yourself.But when the tabloid comes out and Jumin is not around, all you have left is Seven.





	unfaithful

**Author's Note:**

> let me get this straight before anything else:  
> i do not support what occurs in this fic.  
> i will never, ever wish it on anyone. it sucks ass.
> 
> but i really, really, really, really wanted to write about it.

It was bad enough that Jumin hadn’t been returning your calls or messages for the past week. But to top it off with one of the biggest Korean tabloids plastering an image of your husband holding hands with another woman as he’s on an international business trip—one that would last a whole month?

You didn’t know what to do.

You decided to have faith in Jumin, like you promised him you would. That you would understand if he had long business trips, if he couldn’t stay by your side as much as another man probably could. You had talked all about this before the two of you got married. You’d both settled it well like adults, literally the only thing missing would have been a contract to really finalize the deal.

You sent him messages. [Text me when you have free time!] Not that he ever did, not without you prodding him to. When he’s _really_ busy, when he’s in the zone, he’s rarely the first one to send a message. You set that aside. [Who are you with today? I hope meetings go well!] You try your best to be as patient, as understanding, as ideal of a wife as you can be.

But you’re only human.

It’s been six months since the grueling start of the complex, international trade deal that had shaken C&R. It was a good connection; something that, in Jumin’s words, “would dramatically increase and aid in the development of C&R as a national and potentially international business success”. This is why Jumin had taken the entire dealership into his hands. Six months of traveling out of Korea to settle deals and other contracts with international partners and clients.

He’s only been home for a non-consecutive 2 weeks since the year started. The penthouse is empty with only you and Elizabeth the 3rd.

The first one you call is Seven. You’ve considered the other four members of the RFA as your best friends (you’re not as close to V, as much as you wished), but Seven has always been especially close to your heart. The two of you vibed really well, jamming together with your bad, nerdy jokes and hanging out a lot.

When your husband refuses to respond to your calls, you’re glad when Seven answers.

Jumin hasn’t put it into words, but you know he doesn’t like it when you hang out with the other RFA men on your own. So you invite Zen, too. That first dreadful week, it’s the three of you who end up in a dimly lit bar in one of the busiest streets downtown, sharing bottles of beer (and juice for Seven, because he “doesn’t drink”).

You try not to cry, but you’re already on the verge of tears. “I just, I don’t know what to think of it. I’d like to think he isn’t that careless to get caught!” You say, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

Zen has a hand on your back and a soothing, comforting voice. He mirrors your anger; comfort that you need. “That Jumin Han… thinking he can get away with this.” He rubs calming circles on your shaking back.

“I don’t even know who that is, but the tabloid blew it up so hard, and now everyone is talking about it,” you whimper. “I said I’d ignore it, but I see it everywhere. It’s like, ‘Hello, I’m his wife, I’m right here!’ I haven’t even talked about it with him, and yet the whole of Korea is already up in flames about it.”

Seven runs his thumb over the back of your hand. “It could have been nothing, yanno,” he reasons out. “A clingy, touchy colleague. You know those kinds.”

“He’s married,” you groan. “She’s holding the hand with our ring on it!” The tears are waterfalls now, and they drip on the shiny glass bar where you guys are seated. You wonder what you’d done to deserve this. “He’s not telling me anything. I haven’t talked to him in a week. I don’t know what’s happening. If I hadn’t seen that headline--those photos--I would have assumed him dead.”

“When does he come home?” Zen asks, taking a swig of his beer.

Seven does the math. “Three more weeks?”

You lean your head against Seven’s shoulder and sob. “Seven, Zen, have I not been a good enough wife? Have I not been enough for Jumin, after all this time?”

“Oh, babe,” Seven sighs, gently patting your head. “You’ve always been enough. Please don’t ever think that.”

But you do. You do it all the time.

It’s hard not to, honestly. You know Jumin does his best to make you feel loved and welcomed and part of his world, but you come from completely different social classes to begin with. You grew up and lived with different rules, different functions, different expectations. It’s not like you can go around ignoring what other people say about the two of you. You’ve heard it all: “lowlife”, “gold digger”, “user”, “manipulator”—you’ve gotten so used to it you barely flinch any more.

But they still sting.

You’ve watched enough dramas to know the type of girl that suits Jumin—maybe someone who is into business as well, someone who grew up affluent, who knows what to do with this much money and wealth, someone who doesn’t sit and keep the house. You know he needs someone who can keep up with him.

You want to be someone who can keep up with him. But no matter how hard you keep chase, it’s like you never really reach that “ideal girl for Jumin” in your head.

You know Jumin loves you. You like to think he does. Even when he’s busy. _Especially_ when he’s busy. He said it himself—he’s not _choosing_ to ignore you, it’s just that the things he has to do in order to make sure you’re happy, and everyone else around him is successful, sometimes he has to do while spending time away from you.

You try your best to be the ever-accepting, ever loving wife.

You try.

* * *

 It’s the second, nearing third week since Jumin has last answered your messages. You’d invited everyone out. It’s a weekend. But Jaehee is busy, covering for Jumin for C&R, and the work never ends. It’s Yoosung’s first day at this animal volunteer center, and he can’t miss it. Zen has rehearsals, and being the lead man, he can’t easily skip out of it, much as he wanted to. It was only you and Seven. The two of you meet at an arcade, and decide to spend the afternoon trying to beat each other in all the different racing games. You won the last two rounds, but you know it’s because Seven went easy on you.

How you winded up in Seven’s apartment is lost to history. Somewhere between “I don’t want to go home in that empty penthouse yet” and “Maybe we should watch a movie? Something long that’ll keep you distracted?”, you ended up in the back of his red Ferrari going double the speed limit to his bunker on the outskirts of town.

Seven pulls out his sofa into a bed, and throws in two blankets and four pillows for good measure. He lends you a pair of pyjamas to change into—“that dress is pretty, but that’s not comfortable for a movie night that’s for sure!”—and as you get dressed, it takes him no more than 15 minutes to prepare a large monitor to watch Pacific Rim in. 

You lay down huddled in blankets next to each other, Seven humming an excited tune as the movie begins. It’s one of his favorite movies, he says, makes him feel brave and strong. When the protagonists suffer the first blow, you instinctively reach out to hold Seven’s hand; he gently places his other hand on yours comfortingly. The little child hides behind a large rubbish bin, and you cling to Seven’s arm in near-tears. “Will she make it?” you ask yourself, _will I make it? Will I make it? Will I make it?_

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the warm touch of Seven’s lips against your forehead. And you don’t know what comes over you, but the instinct is loud, and simple, and sudden. With one fisted hand you pull Seven’s collar towards you and kiss him flat on the mouth; his lips part open in a gasp and you take it as an invitation; you slide your tongue into his mouth, hot and constricting. You swallow the moan that leaves his throat.

When the two of you part, he is panting and so are you. “Uhm—"

 “Don’t ask,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, hot puffs of breath against his own shaking lips. “Just kiss me.”

He hesitates. Rightfully so. But it only takes a few heartbeats for him to change his mind, scooping you up into his arms, his hand against the back of your head as the two of you kiss.

You haven’t been kissed like this in months.

His mouth trails wet kisses down your jaw, down the side of your neck, and where his lips are it feels like burning. With Jumin, it’s always been warmth, and comfort, and belonging, but with Seven…with Seven something sears in your gut, like a wildfire. He pulls away from you just enough to tug you out of the shirt you are in, _his shirt, his pair of pyjamas, his_ —and to lift your bra to cup your warm, soft breast against his hand.

Everywhere he touches he feels like he’s trespassed, but he’s waited so long and he can’t say no—

“Seven,” you croon out, as he kisses your bare shoulders, you know you shouldn’t, you know this isn’t what you came here for, all you wanted was a little—

He stops. “Saeyoung,” is what comes out of his mouth, and he whispers it against the skin of your neck. “My name is Saeyoung. Call me that.”

The taste of his secret is bitter on your lips, but sweet in your loneliness. “Saeyoung,” you breathe out, and he presses his fangs on your pulse. You don’t see him but you can feel his predatory gaze, his pupils blown wide. “No! Don’t bite.”

“I won’t,” he says, only grazes his sharp canines along your neck—just enough for you to feel it, to feel your pulse racing because you know _this is not what you should be doing._

But you let him anyway, with every fiery touch you chase the cold of the loneliness away. Seven—Saeyoung presses light kisses along your neck, but you can feel their _hunger,_ just barely holding back.

You don’t know when you start crying, but your cheeks are wet and your eyes sting. You chant his name— _Saeyoung, Saeyoung, Saeyoung_ , your cries broken with tears and sobs as he makes his way down your body, his hands on your breasts, your ribs, the curve of your waist. He kisses right along the hem of the pajamas, asking permission, and you lift your hips just enough for him to pull everything down to your ankles. As he lifts himself up to pull off his own shirt, you kick off the rest of your clothes to the floor.

He presses his hands right above your knees and stops.

“Hey… are you… are you sure about this?”

You don’t have a drop of alcohol in you, but you’re drunk on his touch; every time his hands graze your skin you feel a little more intoxicated. You meet his eyes, molten gold with a heat that goes right through your skin, and nod.

“Please.”

You cry out when he finds his way to your thighs—his hands feel so different but they fill the empty gaping hole that Jumin left—and kisses the skin slowly, reverently, as if it was holy.

This is the first time Saeyoung has touched you like this, and he’s trembling a little but he doesn’t let that stop him. He doesn’t force you pliant against the sheets, doesn’t go and claim you as his own. No, this—this whole thing, this was for you, he was only the warm body closest, most eager, most available. He eats you out like a man starved; his nose pressed against your pubic bone as he teases every sensitive part of you. He proves to be a fast learner, figures out how you like your clit laved with his tongue, accentuated with shallow licks to the rest of your slit.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you groan out.

When he looks up at you, you look absolutely _wrecked._ Eyes at half mast, tear trails running down your cheeks, mouth open. You’re holding on to the sofa with a vicelike grip and cry out when he pumps his first finger into you, one knuckle, two, and you’re doing your best not to grind your hips against his face. He pulls his finger out and presses in two, gently prodding, and then you shriek as he touches something electric. He holds your thighs down with his other arm, keeping you in place as he works you through a rising orgasm—he whispers “ _come_ , come on,” with his tongue against your clit and _come_ you do, crying out in halted, high-pitched whines as your muscles spasm and the feeling of release washes over you like a tide rolling in.

And so he lets go, watching as you relax back into the sofa, sniffling and sighing at the same time. You uncurl your fists from the mattress, brush your hair out of your face, and close your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, hesitantly, not really knowing how to _talk_ about this, but he can’t say the regret has settled in quite yet. Awkwardly, with his boner tenting his pants, he sits by your legs and waits for what’s to happen.

For what to do next.

You gingerly get up to a sitting position, your heart still loud like a drum against your chest. You look at Saeyoung carefully, his mussed hair, his obvious erection, the way his eyes look so dark but the most alluring shade of gold, framed by his red, red hair.

You crawl towards him, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows.

You wonder what he’s thinking right now.

Saeyoung doesn’t flinch when you reach out, just watches as you put your arms around his neck, and press his lips against his. A soft kiss, almost shy, nearly chaste; but then you slip your tongue in his mouth and you swallow the moan that drawls out of his throat. His fingers weave into your hair, pulling gently, and you sigh into his kiss.

When you part just enough to take a breath, he looks into your eyes as if making sure. And you’re sure. In this moment, right now, this is all you’re sure of. Saeyoung is all you’re sure of.

So when he pulls you into another kiss, you don’t hesitate to drag your hands against the hardness of his cock, dragging the fabric of his pants against the sensitive spots. He nearly chokes in surprise at the action, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. You pump him through his clothes until you’re sure he’s as hard as he can get. You push one palm flush against his chest, just enough to get his attention.

Your lips let out one word that makes him hot all over. “Off.”

 _Yes ma’am_ , you hear him whisper under his breath, as he stands up and fumbles with his belt and his zipper. The pants fall to the floor with a _clink_ of his belt and the boxers soon follow. You only have a moment to admire his fully naked form, the first time you’ve ever seen him this _bare_ , before he’s back on the sofa bed and he pulls you up against his lap.

The two of you sit there for a moment, just watching each other for any sign of _breaking._ Any moment now you feel like he’ll tell you to stop, tell you that this isn’t right, tell you that you should stop. This is a wind-up ticking time bomb and you’re waiting for everything to burst.

But then you feel his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him and you let go.

“Please,” you ask him, again, your lips kiss-swollen, your eyes still glassy with tears. “Have me.”

“I don’t—” he swallows, again—“I don’t have… _condoms_.”

You shake your head. “Neither do I. I don’t care. Please,” you say. “For me.”

And the thing is, he can’t say no when he’s loved you all this time—

His arms are broad in a way different to Jumin’s; you relish in the muscle hiding underneath the skin as you cling on to him. He fixes your positions on his lap as you align the head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly, _slowly,_ almost agonizingly slow, you slide down against him. He doesn’t move—barely holding back a thrust, and you felt that—and so you go ahead at your own pace as you take him in inch by inch. You feel his grip tighten against your waist the deeper you go, and by the time he is fully sheathed in you all you can let out is a ragged breath.

He holds your thighs in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead, a gesture so gentle that it makes something in you break.

“Relax,” he says, his voice low. “I got you.”

He starts to thrust into you, a slow pace that makes you feel dizzy. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your face against the crook of his neck. Your hot breath fans against the skin over his pulse and he shudders at the contact, thrusting a little too hard that it makes you cry out. _Sorry,_ he mumbles, before readjusting. Your nails leave crescent-shaped marks against his back as he fucks you.

Feeling his own orgasm coming, he pulls your leg higher around his torso and tilts; your back hits the bed as he continues to thrust, the sound of skin on skin sloppy and loud. You let out a stilted “Ah, ah, ah, ah” as he pushes against you deeper, just enough for him to brush _there_. He hits a spot that makes you see stars, over, and over, and over again, your body electric, every single thrust is charged, and it makes you cry out—“ _Jumin!_ ”—

And he doesn’t mind.

That’s the thing, he doesn’t mind, because he’s knowing he’s claiming things that aren’t his to begin with, so he just keeps going, going and _going_ until your vision goes white, and everything collapses into a wave of an orgasm that leaves you boneless. “ _Inside me,_ ” you gasp out just in time, as he follows soon after, his movements erratic and nearly primal. He bites his lower lip hard as he can when he does, doing his best to follow your request to not leave marks.

When he pulls out of you a different kind of _emptiness_ floods you, and you lay there feeling like someone that could have been. Saeyoung is thorough as he cleans you up, and doesn’t ask any questions when after it all you only roll to one side of the bed, wordlessly pulling the blanket up your chin. He turns off the movie, turns off the lights, turns off his emotions, sets aside what has to be set aside; deals with the aftermath on his own, as you, exhausted, fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

 When morning dawns in the bunker, sunlight does not stream in the window warmly. There’s only cold walls, and Saeyoung’s glow-in-the-dark stars from the ceiling. You see Saeyoung’s jacket draped over your blanket. You hold this against your bare chest, think of Jumin, and cry.

**Author's Note:**

> contrary to popular belief, my favorite is actually 707.
> 
> read it at [tumblr](http://rokutouxei.tumblr.com/post/183426899142/unfaithful)


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